


As Certain Dark Things Are to Be Loved

by lazilywayward



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Couch Cuddles, Eventual Smut, Grumpy Graves, M/M, Naughty Dreams, Probably kittens at some point, Wandless Magic, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9931103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazilywayward/pseuds/lazilywayward
Summary: Percival Graves takes in Credence, at the request of Tina and Newt."The kid would stay with him. Merlin knew why he would take on a frankly dangerous, untrained young wizard. He wasn’t exactly the nurturing type. And yet, something about his story had pulled at Graves. He had sworn to protect the innocent, the weak, to pursue and restrain the Dark.  Instead this… boy, had nearly died because a monster had worn his face to deceive and manipulate. It made him feel sick. It made him feel that he had something to atone for, however he could."





	1. Come In, Take Your Coat Off, I'll Sit You Down

When Percival Graves was pulled from the cellar of his brownstone by his very own Auror team, he had just one question.

“Is he dead?”

Then,

“I can fix that.”

Not that anyone outside of the extraction team would dream of letting a whisper of their boss’s threats be known. He was regarded with respect and awe by his subordinates; if he happened to be less than morally upright after being held hostage in his own house, well. They were willing to over look it. 

President Picquery made a point to stop by his bedside, once it was safe to do so without incurring the wrath of a Healer attending to their patient. Anyone would have assumed she had come to get answers, to gather the details personally.

Graves knew she had come to atone.

“This was a total cock-up, Seraphina.”

“Excuse you, Director Graves,” she responded icily.

“Oh, yes. Beg pardon. This was a total cock-up, Madam President.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m well aware. Hindsight, things do tend to become clear.” She fixed him with a look. “As I am sure you are well aware.”

Graves was well aware of how he could have done things differently. Lying helpless in a bed for days would do that, and yet he wasn’t willing to give up this fight just yet. “This, this mess. It’s not like you to make snap judgements of this sort.” He felt drained. “What really happened, Sera?”

The President of MACUSA bristled. “You know as well as anyone the Statue of Secrecy, the pains we take to honor it. No exceptions can be made, no-,” she breathed, trying to regain control. “When No-Majs get scared, they attack.”

“So you decided to beat them to it?”

Seraphina Picquery froze. “I decided to do what I deemed best. As I am empowered to do by Congress.” She strolled out, pausing to say over her shoulder, “You are instructed to take a leave of absence, effective immediately upon your release tomorrow.”

“By the Healers?”

“By your President, Director.”

Graves laughed sardonically. It echoed around the empty white room. He tried to settle back amongst his pillows to sleep. It didn’t help.

 

 

Here were the facts, as he understood them:

Auror Goldstein was demoted for attacking a No Maj.

Strange disturbances had begun to wreck destruction across the city.

A one Newt Scamander entered New York City with a case full of (mostly illegal) magical creatures.

Mr. Scamander caused a disturbance at a No Maj bank, leading to a breach of the Statue of Secrecy and (former) Auror Goldstein attempting to bring him in to MACUSA headquarters.

She was unsuccessful.

Somehow, and Graves had a hunch it was less a somehow and more of an inevitability, a few magical creatures escaped.

A very prominent No Maj was killed. In public, no less.

MACUSA wrongly assumes Mr. Scamander’s creatures are to blame.

Graves/ Gridelwald sentences both (former) Auror Goldstein and Mr. Scamander to death on trumped up charges.

Somehow, no one else in MACUSA notices this huge breach of judiciary measures (seriously, he might need to fire some people).

All hell pretty much breaks loose after, resulting in mass destruction of No Maj property, some No Maj deaths, an embarrassing near-exposure of their world, the discovery of Grindelwald, and the death of an extraordinary young wizard.

 

Graves felt beholden to this Mr. Scamander. After hearing the rough details of what had transpired over the those few days, he no longer had any faith that his team would have known that the Graves they faced down in the subways of New York had been an imposter. He would likely have been killed, directly if Grindelwald was feeling particularly giving, or left to starve and rot if he couldn’t be bothered.

This unpleasant thought had left him stewing into the small hours of the morning. Until. Until he remembered that while he had skirted death for the umpteenth time in his forty years, there was someone else who had not been so fortunate. 

As an Auror, he knew the price of one life may very well mean the end of another’s. It was understood as part and parcel of the job. And yet.

He just wished there was something he could do.

 

 

“Sir I have a favor to ask.”

Graves raised his eyebrows over his coffee cup. Goldstein was clearly trying to appear calm. Her tapping foot, the wringing hands, and her clenched jaw weren’t really selling it.

“Spit it out, Goldstein.” She had sent a letter, asking if it would be alright to stop by for coffee. Graves was half out of his mind with boredom by the second day of his imposed leave. He’d accepted. On the condition that she brought the refreshments. He was a terrible cook.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered.

That caught his attention. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s- Well, Sir, um. You see, I-“

“Tina. You can tell me. I’ll understand.”

“Credence Barebone is here,” she said in a rush, hand on the case next to her.

“What.” He asked flatly.

Tina stood quickly and picked up the case. She stroked it protectively. She’s going to run if I say the wrong thing, Graves realized. He put his cup down.

“Okay. Calm down. What’s this about-“ he glanced at the case again. “Is that Scamander’s case?” he asked, voice rising high. 

She nodded.

“Wha… in my house, Tina?!”

“Well we thought it would be best if… I see now. How, um. How this could have gone better.”

“We?”

Tina took a fortifying breath and set the case flat on the ground. Glancing at Graves, she unclasped it, then gave one long, then three short, raps.

There are moments in life that turn your world upside down. If you had asked Percival Graves just five minutes earlier what that might mean, he would have scoffed and muttered something about Dark Wizards and basements and losing one’s edge. 

The top popped open, and a gingery head poked through. “How’d it go?” asked a whispery voice. 

A British voice, thought Graves. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Scamander?”

The head spun around. “Oh, hello again. Or, no no, that’s not quite right. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” He scrambled out of his case. “Newt Scamander.” 

Graves shook the proffered hand. “Percival Graves.”

A noise came from somewhere in the case. 

“Bigger on the inside, isn’t it?” Graves asked.

“Uh yes, yes it, well, the thing is, Mr. Graves, is that-“

“What he’s trying to say Sir, is that-“

“You said Credence Barebone.” Graves interjected. The two fell silent, the opened case between them. “Why?” 

A soft shuffling noise drew his gaze down. A wide-eyed youth stared back. “Mr. Graves?” it whimpered.

Graves didn’t realize he had sat down until Goldstein’s hand gripped his shoulder.

“We didn’t know where else to bring him, he can’t stay with Queenie and me, improper-“

“I’m not exactly equipped to handle people on a regular basis, not in my travels-“

“He needs a safe place to learn to control his magic-“

“The obscurus seems to have been destroyed-“

“He’s just a boy-“

“Or weakened, perhaps-“

“Enough,” Graves cut their nervous ramblings off. Credence had seemed to grow smaller and smaller as they had listed all the ways in which he would be a burden. 

“Hey kid,” Credence’s eyes shot up. “Why don’t you join us out here? Hm? How do you take your coffee?”

 

 

The kid would stay with him. Merlin knew why he would take on a frankly dangerous, untrained young wizard. He wasn’t exactly the nurturing type. And yet, something about his story had pulled at Graves. He had sworn to protect the innocent, the weak, to pursue and restrain the Dark. Instead this… boy, had nearly died because a monster had worn his face to deceive and manipulate. It made him feel sick. It made him feel that he had something to atone for, however he could. 

 

After Goldstein and Scamander left, both giving what they thought were covert little nods to the kid, Graves sat down across from him in the parlor, the remains of the coffee and pastries between them. 

“How old are you?” Graves asked, curious.

Credence glanced up quickly, then down. “I’m twenty-two this June past, sir.” His shoulders hunched forward.

“Oh, no need for that. Graves is fine.” He couldn’t tell if he was scaring or soothing the kid. “Twenty-two huh?”

The kid nodded. 

“Mm-hmmm. Well, what do you know of wizards, Credence?”

“I don’t know very much sir. Just that you hide your world from the, the normal? One?” he looked up, and at Graves’ nod he continued. “I know you can hurt someone with a wand,” Graves shifted, “That you can heal cuts with a wave of your hand,” Graves frowned. “I know I’m a squid? A squib,” he corrected softly.

“Wait, who said that?”

“You did.” He didn’t believe it was possible, but Credence seemed to grow even smaller in his chair.

“Credence. I can assure you with absolute certainty you are not a Squib. In fact, you probably have more powerful magic running through your veins than I do,” he said with a reassuring smile.

It worked. The boy’s face softened, just a bit, and his shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit.

“Furthermore, may I remind you we have never met. Now I’m sorry to be blunt, but whatever the hell-“

Credence gasped. 

“What, hell?” Graves asked, perplexed.

He nodded.

Graves sighed. This was going to be difficult, and likely awkward. “Whatever was… said, to you. Before today I mean. Wasn’t me, wasn’t the real me. Now I’m sorry, I suppose, if that confuses you. But how about we start fresh?” He leaned forward and extended his hand.

Credence looked at it for a moment before taking it. Graves pumped it once. “Pleasure to meet you, Credence.”

After a moment, he responded, “Likewise, Sir.”

 

They spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in wary silence. Not knowing what else to do, Graves had handed him his old copy of _A Magical History of Wilde America_. Credence had seemed enthralled, at least, so that was something. Graves pretended to do some paperwork across the hallway in his study. Mostly he just stared unseeing at the pages in front of him, thinking, “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

The kid wasn’t really a child, despite the clothes, bad haircut, and overall meekness. Wounded innocence, the thought came unbidden. That’s what that look is around his eyes and mouth. Graves’ thoughts spun away, trying to figure out how’s and why’s without a direct interrogation.   
Such as:

-What happened to Credence’s real parents?  
-Why wasn’t he at Ilvermorny years ago?  
-Why didn’t he run away from that horrible woman?

And where was the kid’s goddamn coat? Seriously, it was the coldest days of winter. We’ll fix that, he thought with satisfaction. A plan began to unwind in his mind. Then the clock chimed for lunch. Graves thought he’d rustle something up.

 

 

Credence was worlds away. The story of the orphan Isolt Sayre was thrilling. He loved that she survived by her wits and her kindness to others. It showed that sometimes, you can make your own family instead of what had been given to you. Maybe there was still hope for Credence to belong somewhere. To be… loved.

“I hope you like sandwiches,” Graves said from the doorway.

Credence flinched terribly. He jumped up. “Y-yes, Mr. Graves. I’m thankful for whatever you can spare.”

Graves felt puzzled. “It’s lunch Credence, not an offering plate.”

“Yes sir.”

As Credence came closer, Graves clapped a hand to his shoulder. “I thought I told you to call me Graves,” he chided. Then he noticed the expression on the boy’s face. He’d lost that fearful look. He looked … almost hopeful, instead of skittish. Interesting, Graves thought. He didn’t move his hand away from his shoulder as he led them downstairs to the kitchen. “So tell me about yourself, kid.”

Credence sat down at the small wooden table in the kitchen at Graves urging. “There’s not much to tell s- Mr. Graves.” He wasn’t comfortable with this new Mr. Graves yet. He seemed nice, but then, so had the man he knew. Or so he had thought. 

Graves had his wand out. “Just tell me about where you lived, where you went to school. What kind of music you like, that sort of thing.” He spelled the bread to slice itself, and for the mustard, roast beef, and tomatoes to layer themselves neatly. He turned at Credence’’s gasp. The wonderment on the boy’s face made something squeeze inside his chest. 

“Will it taste different?” he asked.

“What?” 

“The, um, food. Does the touch of magic change the flavor?” Credence asked. 

Graves stopped to consider. “No. But I’ve never actually thought about that.” The plates floated over to the table. “Oh, wait!” A cabinet door banged open as a jar of fat pickles flew to the table, the lid popping off with a squelch. “Now you may eat,” he said with mock formality.

Credence bowed his head for a moment. Then, finished, picked up his sandwich delicately. And proceeded to inhale the entire thing in two minutes flat. 

“Hungry?”

Credence swallowed. “Sorry.”

“No no. You must be hungry. You certainly look it.” Graves said, taking the opportunity to examine him closely. He had purplish shadows under his eyes, and shadows under his high cheekbones and sharp jaw. The kid could use a couple of pounds on his skinny frame. “Have some more.”

_Gluttony is a sin._ The voice in his head whispered. But he was still hungry. He didn’t know for sure when he would eat again. He took another sandwich. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Graves said, chewing. “Hey, do you like pickles?”

“I haven’t really…” Credence trailed off.

Graves held the jar out until he plucked one out. Credence stared at it for a moment, then placed his lips over the tip, tasting. He bit, chewing slowly. “Mmm,” he hummed appreciatively, before devouring the rest, juice running down his chin. He swiped at the edge of his mouth with a thumb, then looked up to see Graves staring at him. “Thank you. It’s, good.”

Graves grunted and busied himself tidying up his side of the table. He felt a little dirty leering at the kid wrapping his lips around a phallic object like that. He glanced back. Lips that pink should be a crime, he thought idly.

“Well.” He started.

Credence perked up. 

“Do you… have any questions for me?”

“Did… “ he started softly.

“Did?” Prompted Graves.

“Did he hurt you?”

Graves was ready to answer questions about magical beasts or deadly spells, not his own annoying foray into capture and torture. “Doesn’t matter,” he said gruffly.

“Alright.”

Graves cleared his throat. “You done? Okay,” he flicked his wand. Credence jumped when the dishes flew off the table and began washing themselves in the sink. 

“Oh! I could have cleaned those. I should earn my keep.”

“No. No none of that, now.” Graves tucked away his wand, and after considering it, threw his arm around the kid’s shoulders. “I’ve been neglecting my host duties. How about a tour?”

 

 

The brownstone was huge in Credence’s eyes. The bottom floor was the cellar, sitting mostly empty as Graves was many things but an enterprising homemaker was not one of them, which led up through a red door to the white and blue kitchen. A huge wood burning stove took up most of one wall. A scarred butcher block table was the center point. Small windows near the ceiling let in light. The dining room had a better view overlooking the street. From there the next floor opened to the parlor, with a large guest bedroom and bath in the back. The next floor held the library, with Graves’ messy study across the hall. There were two back bedrooms on this floor, with the sectioned off attic just above on the next floor with the conservatory at the front. Credence had looked over everything with cautious interest, until Graves opened the French doors to the indoor garden. It was a secret of his, this passion. Gentle pruning and talking and watering didn’t exactly add to the stern demeanor he cultivated for work. But a man needed to have something that could be just his and his alone. 

“Well, that’s it,” Graves said, hands in his pockets and standing amidst the flora. “My bedroom is on the floor below, on the right. You’re welcome to take either of the others, it doesn’t really matter to me, whichever struck your fancy.”

 

“I’ll take the one next to yours.”

 

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the library. Credence had asked about Graves’ time at Ilvermorny, which had sent the man on a golden trip down memory lane, pulling the boy along with him. 

“So that’s why prefects aren’t allowed to be out of bed after 11 o’clock on Halloween night,” Graves said, laughing and triumphant. “Oh, it took Professor Sputtle two weeks to catch them all. They never even suspected Sera for a moment.”

Credence laughed, his face transformed by his lips stretching into a wide smile. Graves held his gaze, smiling back. The moment grew, until he realized he was staring again. The clock chimed for supper.

“Oh! Well, I guess I kept you all afternoon.” The room had become dark around them, the shadows long. With a jab of his wand, Graves lit the lamps. The small fireplace burst into flickering flames. To his credit, Credence simply looked around instead of jumping this time. “How do you feel about soup?”

“It’s soup,” he replied.

Graves gave him a look. “Less than a day in my house and you’re already sassing me.”

Credence hadn’t meant to, he’d just felt so comfortable with Mr. Graves smiling at him like that. At the reprimand, his stomach dropped. “I didn’t-“

Graves was already motioning him up out of his chair. “Kid, I’m joking. You’re fine… Actually, it’s nice to see you’ve got some spirit in you. Just a little, hm?”

 

“So,” Graves began. 

They’d finished eating. He had sat Credence down in the parlor with a cup of tea. Graves poured himself a finger of whiskey and took a seat next to him on the sofa. He’d noticed that Credence seemed to like it when he was close. That, and he didn’t want the kid to think he was interrogating him. He was, but still. Catch more flies with honey, and all that.

“You didn’t answer my questions before,” Graves began. He noticed the way Credence’s fingers tightened on his tea cup. ‘Easy, then,’ he thought. “Where’d you go to school?”

“I didn’t.” Credence glanced over and away. “They teach you your letters and how to print at the orphanage, and some computation. Then when Ma” (his voice catches, just a bit) “adopted me, she said that the church would teach me all I needed.”

“Mm. How’d that make you feel?”

Credence doesn’t answer at first. “It made me… I thought that maybe, I wasn’t good enough. Good like the other children. Like I needed to be kept away from them. Ma wouldn’t let me play with the other children. Said it was idleness.” 

Graves knows the thrill of discovering your magic for the first time, that first true sign of one’s magical abilities is confirmation. Yes, you belong. That Credence was robbed of that joy is upsetting. That he was robbed of any joy in his young life makes him glad that Mary Lou Barebone is dead. He’s glad he’ll never be tempted.

Credence turns so that his knee is a hair’s breadth away from Graves’ own. “I killed her.”

Graves takes his teacup away. He leans close. “I know.” Then he strides over to the decanters to fill his tumbler and Credence’s teacup with a splash of whiskey.

“Here,” he says. 

“What’s this for?”

“It’ll help.”

“The, the guilt Mr. Graves?”

“The memories,” Graves says to his glass. After a minute of silence he asks suddenly, “Have you ever even heard music?”

Credence huffs in surprise. “Yes,” he says, eyes shining in the firelight, his lips with the barest smile.

“Uh-huh. What do you like?” Graves asks, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa.

“Well, I like… the music you can dance to.”

“Wait,” Graves says, body moving closer, “You like to dance?”

“Oh, I’m not allowed to dance Mr. Graves.”

“No.” Graves pats his knee. “You weren’t allowed to dance.”

“I’m- I mean, I wasn’t allowed to dance.” Credence likes being this close, he can see the changing colors of Mr. Graves irises this close. “But I used to walk all over the city. I’d see dance parties sometimes. You can hear the music out on the sidewalk sometimes, and the people laughing.”

Graves smiles softly. “I like that kind of music too.”

Credence feels emboldened from the whiskey, and the attention. “Mr. Graves, did he hurt you?”

His response is gruff. “I thought I told you never mind that.”

“He hurt me,” Credence says quietly.

“What? How- when did he? I’m-“

“I had thought. We were friends. I was helping him find the child. He, he said I was…”

“I know. A Squib. But you aren’t a Squib, kid.”

 

“No. This was before. He said I was, special.” Credence chokes on the word. “I was the key. He lied. When he thought Modesty was the child he wanted, he tried to throw me away. Like trash.”

“Credence-“

“I’m not trash.” Credence says in a tone that chills Graves down to his bones. He suddenly remembers that this is not just some boy. This is some unknown, unprecedented force of magic that has killed people. Asshole people, perhaps. But still. Graves feels the adrenaline in his fingertips as Credence’s dark eyes meet his.

“No. No you are not, my boy.” The endearment falls easily from his lips as he drops his arm around Credence’s shoulders and pulls him close. Credence allows his head to rest on Graves’ shoulder, his hands still clutching his teacup. Graves’ finds his thumb has been running along the boy’s jaw. “Everything’s going to be okay, Credence.” 

 

 

Graves finds him a spare nightshirt and points him in the direction of the bath. He goes to firecall Tina Goldstein. He needs answers.

 

“How is he? Are you being nice to him?” Tina demands.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice? Do you think I can’t be nice?”

Tina raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Goldstein. I need a favor, but first I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Why is Credence really here?”

“I- I don’t know what you mean, Sir. Newt and I told you-“

“No. I don’t believe either of you. Mr. Scamander takes in dangerous creatures, and you yourself were an orphan and know how hard it is. So. Ms. Goldstein. Why is he really staying with me? Especially when you think I’m incapable of being hospitable,” he finished sorely.

“There’s something I hadn’t told you.”

Of course. “Go on.”

“Grindelwald knew that Newt and I were trying to bring Credence in, that we had offered to help him.” Tina sighed. “Yesterday morning, when the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic were transporting Grindelwald, he escaped. Not in New York!” She said hurriedly. “In Europe. But I was worried for Credence. See, no one would suspect you of wanting anything to do with him. But they would suspect me.”

Graves considered for a moment. “Alright, firstly. Any news surrounding Grindelwald should be brought to my attention immediately, understood?” Tina nodded, contrite. He softened. “Secondly, that still puts you in danger, Tina, even if Credence is not.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” She said, resolute.

“I’m sure you are. Now, about that favor. Does Queenie have plans for tomorrow morning?”

 

 

After Queenie agreed (squealed, really) that she would be delighted to help, Graves went to check on Credence. He rapped on the bedroom door next to his own in warning, distracted by thoughts of tomorrow. 

“Credence-“ he began as he poked his head in.

Credence had sat up upon the intrusion. His hair was mussed from laying on the mound of pillows in the big bed.

“Yes, Mr. Graves?”

“Uh, I invited Ms. Goldstein’s sister, Queenie, to stop by after breakfast. I thought it would be nice for you to meet some of the magical community, see some of the sights?”

“Really?” Credence breathed. “I get to see the wizarding world?”

“Well, yeah. You’re part of the wizarding world, you know.” Graves gave a parting smile. “Good night Credence.”

“Good night, Mr. Graves.”

Graves paused just before he shut the door. “I’m glad you’re here.”


	2. I'll Light You a Fire, Your Hands Are Cracked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ao3. Everyone is so nice and supportive!  
> Hope you guys like this next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented or left kudos.

“Do you- I mean, what do you want for breakfast?”

Credence shrugged. “What ever you give me is fine.”

Graves didn’t like that. Not at all. It was likely that Credence had never been given enough as it was, let alone enough variety to develop a preference about things. He had an idea. “Alright then. Hope you like bacon and hot cakes.”

It turned out Credence liked them very much, even when slightly burnt. There was still too much left on his plate, a lifetime of small portions leaving him with a shrunken stomach, but Graves knew with time he would adapt. Credence would have enough to eat, and warm clothes, and a roof over his head, and he would never be threatened ever again or-

The floo chimed upstairs.

Credence flinched. “Was that the door?” he asked, trying to hide his alarm.

“No.” Graves answered, tossing his napkin on the table. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to answer the fireplace.”

He left Credence looking confused at the table. 

 

 

The floo in the parlor chimed again. It became cross when ignored for too long. “Yes?”

Queenie Goldstein’s head popped through. She smiled widely. “Morning, Mista’ Graves! May I come through?”

“Of course, Queenie,” he replied offering her a hand as she spun into view.

“Oh, a gentleman,” she teased, stepping out. She smiled into his eyes. “Oh! That is a tricky one, ain’t it?” she said sympathetically.

Graves took a steadying breath. “Queenie. We talked about this.”

“Oh, you know how it is. Thoughts just sorta drift in whether I mean to read them or not,” she said, looking around. “Where’s- oh.” She strode off towards the kitchen.

Credence was beginning to wash the breakfast dishes when Queenie swished in. 

“Oh!” She smiled softly. “Well look at you. I’m Queenie,” she stepped forward and offered her hand. Credence took it gently and nodded. “It’s so nice to finally meet you properly.” She didn’t return his hand.

Credence had never been touched by such a pretty lady before, or one that smiled at him so kindly. “It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

Queenie giggled and dropped his hand. “That’s very nice of you. You’re not so bad looking yourself. Why, you’re just a cutie,” she exclaimed, looking from his burning ears to his well-worn boots.

Credence looked helplessly over to where Graves was lounging in the doorway. He gave Credence a small smile that made something drop away in his middle.

“Watch yourself, kid. Queenie’s a Legilimens.”

“What’s a, a Leggy-mens…?

Queenie giggled. “I can read minds, honey.”

“Oh. OH!”

“Oh honey, your secrets are safe with me, don’t worry about it! I ain’t judging nobody. Now, we’re gonna go out today, you and me and Mr. Graves. Would you like that sweetie?”

“Um, I don’t h-have any money for-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Graves interjected. 

“Sir, that’s not-“

“Let me,” Graves insisted. “I have more than one man needs.”

Credence felt it would be rude to keep resisting another’s generosity. He nodded his acquiesce. Maybe he could pay him back at some point. 

Queenie clapped her hands. “That’s settled then! Oh, Credence, this will be a treat.”

 

Graves may have misjudged his resolve. 

First, they stopped by Macarthur Callahan’s Cobblery. Credence had flinched and jumped by turns as a tape measure, then naked soles and bits of leather floated around his stocking feet, seemingly directed by unseen hands. Graves chatted with the store owner about beast skins, styles, and water repellent charms. Credence, beckoned to stand on a wooden cutout by a pair of scissors, watched as leather and thread sewed themselves into shoes around his feet. He wiggled his toes.

“How do they feel?” Queenie asked softly.

Credence gently took a few steps. He felt a little foolish, before catching her encouraging smile. He bounced a little on his heels just to feel the wonderful support. “They feel… decadent.”

“Good,” Graves said from behind them. He looked at him from his shoes to his eyes. “Good.”

Next stop was a tailor. Graves knew Credence might feel uncomfortable. He caught Queenie’s eye just before they stepped inside. She responded with a wink. Credence was staring at the bolts of fabric and the dark gleaming wood when she spoke quietly to him. 

“Good morning, Auror Graves. What brings you in today?” the tailor inquired, politely ignoring the shabby young man in the corner.

“Steward, I have a man here in need of a new wardrobe,” Graves replied, motioning Credence to step forward. He pointedly did not meet Credence’s questioning look.

“Wardrobe you say?” the tailor asked a bit breathlessly. He sized Credence up. “Well let’s get started then.”

Credence’s heart was pounding. His Ma had dressed all of them plainly, often with discarded clothes that were washed, patched, and re-patched until they were indecently outgrown. As Credence had stopped growing a few years before, Ma had seen no need to fix the few inches of ankle and bare wrist that poked out.

This was an unprecedented luxury. Queenie had whispered a few words, then sent him off with an encouraging pat on the arm before he was led away to a back room. Graves had settled into a plush green chair opposite the small dais surrounded by mirrors. He unfolded a newspaper and appeared to be reading. 

Credence was stripped down to his small clothes. Here, too, a measuring tape whisks around his body. The tailor busied himself with draping pieces of fabric, examining the way different colors look next to Credence’s pale face.

“He needs an overcoat as well,” Graves mentions, not looking up from his paper. 

“Of course,” the tailor replies, snapping his fingers. Three bolts of thick wool zoom over and hover in the air. “Which color would you prefer?” he asks Credence.

Credence has no idea how to make the correct selection. A bolt of bottle green nudges in front of a somber black. “Maybe the green?” he asks hesitantly. The tailor hums approvingly. 

It takes nearly two hours, but by the end Credence is blushing furiously as Queenie claps and laughs in delight when he reappears. Graves tries to hide his smile as he pays. “Give those here,” he instructs. Credence hands the many paper wrapped packages over. Graves mutters under his breath, and in an instant the large pile is small enough to tumble into the large pockets of Credence’s new coat. 

“Mr. Graves, this is too much.” The new clothes were soft, warm against his skin. He couldn’t help but stand just a bit taller knowing that doing so would not pull the bottom of his pants higher. Graves had wordlessly removed a belt from the array of selections and tossed a few pairs of suspenders in instead. The difference feels… nice. Less constricting.

“Nonsense, Credence.” He was looking away, at the storefronts. “You needed proper clothes.” Their next destination found, he held the door open as Queenie passed through. He stopped Credence’s entry with a hand to shoulder. “You look good,” he reassured, smiling.

Credence felt warm all over, and not just from the thick coat. The shop they walked into was dusty and mostly empty. 

Graves leaned in close. “Let me do the talking. And, just trust me okay?”

“Okay,” Credence responded with some apprehension. 

“Ready?” Queenie asked Graves. 

A small man swished through the curtain behind the counter. “Why, if it isn’t Percival Graves!” cried the shop keeper. “What brings you in today?”

“Well, Mr. Jonkers, it’s,” Graves pulled his wand out with a saddened expression. “I had a run-in with a really vile low-life a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, well. I hope you gave him a sound beating, then? Eh, Auror?”

Graves looked sheepish. “I’m sorry to say… I lost my wand during the duel.”

“Not you, Mr. Graves!”

“A fierce duel, but. Well,” he twirled the dark wand between his fingers. “It’s just not the same as it was.” He sighed.

“Hm-mmmm. These things can happen,” Mr. Jonkers said sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder. “I take it you’re looking for a new wand? One, perhaps, more steadfast, yes?”

“You would be correct. But, you see Mr. Jonkers, in my line of work, this is, well. It’s-“

“Ah. Say no more!” With a few swishes of his own wand, Mr. Jonkers locks the door, neatly flipping the sign to “Come Back Later”, and draws the curtains. “Now then. Let’s see what will suit you.”

As Mr. Jonkers opens a box and hands the wand inside to Graves, Queenie, who had been quiet as a mouse, perks up. “Say Mr. Jonkers, have you seen MacAllistair Booke around lately?”

He glances at her. “Why, no Ms. Goldstein, I-“

“There’s a reason why,” she whispers conspiratorially. 

“Oh?” he asks innocently.

“Oh yes,” she practically purrs. “You see, it has to do with Elizabeth Bagshot-“

“No!” he exclaims, delighted.

They carry on this way, with Mr. Jonkers getting distracted by Queenie’s gossip, turning his back each time Graves is about to swish or flick one of the wands. Each time, he quickly pushes the wand into Credence’s hand, frantically motioning him to wave it around. Credence, who had held a wand for less than a minute previously, actually nearly drops the first one. Thankfully, nothing happened. At first.

Mr. Jonkers attempted to find a wand similar to Graves original wand. Then, each time he’d turn back to see Graves shrugging. “Nothing.” Or, “Shattered the mirror,” or “Set the curtains on fire.” 

“Hm. Maybe something different,” Mr. Jonkers says, expanding his search to applewood and rowan wands, cores of unicorn hair and thunderbird feathers. None suit.

Until. Until a 12 inch fir wand with a dragon heart string core emitted a flock of shadowy birds that flew up towards freedom before evaporating in the light of a tall window. Credence’s mouth opened in shock. Graves quickly snatched the wand away as Mr. Jonkers suddenly turned away from Queenie’s gossip.

“Very nice! Looks like you’ve found it. Or it found you, eh, as Ollivander likes to say. Nonsense, really.”

Graves smiles politely and pays.

 

 

Credence is devouring the last of his pie. Graves is pretending to not look as he licks the last bit of crumbs off his fingers. 

Queenie looks back and forth between them. “Well this was a fun morning.”

“Thank you again Queenie. I don’t think we could have done that without you.”

“No,” she responds airily, “you couldn’t’ve. Mr. Jonkers is such fun. Knows all the best gossip. Or so he thinks,” she smiles. “But, I’d better get going. Sunday afternoon, ya know?” She gives Credence’s arm a squeeze as she slides out of their diner booth. “See you fellas around. Oh and Mr. Graves?”

“Hm?”

“You take things slow with him,” she says with a look.

Graves doesn’t think she means the magic. “Uh-huh.” 

“Bye now,” she says, departing with one last smile.

 

 

After they returned to the brownstone, Credence had taken the tiny packages out of his coat pockets, and Graves came into his room to return them again to their normal size. “Leave those for a minute and come with me,” he said.

Credence followed him to the library. Graves removes his suit jacket. “Ok,” he begins. “I thought it is high-time you learned some basic spells.” 

_Wicked woman,_ hissed the voice in his head. “Who…” he falters. “Um, who’s power? Um, powering the spell?”

Graves looks at him with bewilderment. “You do. The power for the spell comes from you.”

“Oh,” says Credence. Maybe I was wicked all along, he thinks.

“Now, it’s been a few years since Ilvermorny, but I remember some of the beginner spells. I’ll lend you my old school books, but for now,” he begins unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. “We’ll try a few together. Just to get you started.” 

Credence tries to think of something to say, a question in the back of his mind, but it’s hard with Mr. Graves rolling his sleeves up with short, sharp movements. He just nods instead.

“First, here’s your wand,” Graves says, holding out the slim piece of wood.

Credence makes a noise in his throat and takes the wand, holding it like another person would hold a priceless gem. 

Graves understands. “Here,” he says. “Hold it like this, no, like,” he places his warm hand over the kid’s, adjusts it. “There. Now, holding it like that, think of a light, like a flame.”

Credence is staring at him. He can’t look away. “Now, keeping that light like a little flame in your head, say _lumos_.”

“Loomus?” asks Credence tentatively.

“Ha. Um, no. _lumos_.”

“ _Lumos._ ” he whispers.

And promptly sets Graves on fire.

 

 

“Ok, so what did we learn?”

“Never point your wand at anything you do not want to spell.” Credence says obediently.

“Yes. Good. Very important point. Good lesson today,” Graves says, picking the burned bits of his shirt off his body. Thank-fucking-Archimedes the kid hadn’t had his wand pointed at his more delicate parts. “Good, good try there kid.”

Credence was looking more at the floor than Graves’ face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m- what do you want me do to?”

Graves grumbled to himself as he searched for the burn salve in the bathroom cabinet. 

“What sir?”

“Nothing, where’s the damn- ouch!” He’d banged his head after looking under the sink. 

“Is that it?” Credence asked, pointing to a green bottle that was rolling on the floor. 

“YES.” Graves said, reaching for it.

Credence plucked it up. He rolled it in his palm, then pulled the cork stopper and poured a dollop onto his fingers. Graves let his hands fall to his sides. He sighed. “Okay.”

The burn salve was cold and soothing on his heated skin. Credence had a gentle touch that Graves appreciated. He let himself be lulled by the soft strokes on his chest and abdominals, breathing in the peppermint scent. 

“He healed me once,” Credence said suddenly.

Graves opened his eyes. “From what?”

“Ma.” Credence answered simply. “I know he was just using me. But. He still healed me once.” 

Graves doesn’t know what to say to that. So he just looks at Credence until their eyes meet, and Credence doesn’t drop his hand from his chest. Graves slowly, gently puts his hand over his, sticky with burn salve. “Sometimes, bad people do good things. And sometimes good people do very bad things. It doesn’t change who they are inside.”

Credence nods, but he takes his hand back.

“Like setting someone on fire,” Graves continues in a different tone. Credence actually laughs, and something in Graves chest lightens at the sound. 

 

 

_“I want-“ Credence gasped. He stopped abruptly. He didn’t know. There was only this burning _need_ that had his hands shaking against Graves’s chest._

_“Oh, sweet boy,” Graves said as his thumb dragged against Credence’s lower lip. “You don’t know, do you?” he asked, shaking his head slowly, encouragingly._

_Credence was in a daze. He copied the movement and whimpered, ashamed and _wanting_._

_Graves slipped an arm around the younger man’s lower back, pulling their hips together. “I know what you want,” he growled. His other hand grabbed one of the hands pressed against his chest. His eyes closed as he kissed it, trailing his lips to the delicate skin of the wrist. Graves’ eyes opened. “I’m going to give you what you need,” he whispered._

Graves woke up. He woke up so frantic with desire he groaned, putting a hand on himself before he even remembered his own name. He came gasping, sweating. Credence, he thought. Then, Oh Merlin. 

 

Graves’s head was so low his hair nearly dipped into his coffee cup. He groaned, lifting his head and pushing his hair back in one movement. His eyes fell on the painting in front of him. The painting was looking back.

“You were raised better than this,” the painting spat. Actually, glaring may be a more apt term.

“Was I?” he replied, taking a sip. 

The wizened matriarch in the painting huffed before settling into the fat purple armchair that took up a fourth of the library scene where she resided. She’s settling in for a lecture, Graves realized with resignation.

“A guest is treated with courtesy,” she began.

Graves twitched in his seat. 

“They are offered food and drink upon arrival. Meal times are regular and consistent,” she rattled off. “If a spare bed is not immediately available, a suitable one must be transfigured. A-“

“I know-“ Graves began.

“Above all,” she continued with some force, “a guest is. Relying. On. Their. Host! To keep them safe and in reasonable comfort while under their roof, Percival Albatros Alistair Graves.” 

Percival Albatros Alistair Graves hated hearing his full name spoken like that, especially by his great grandmother. He stared into his coffee. “Is he not safe now? Have I not offered him protection?” he asked quietly.

“No. You most certainly have not.”

Graves sputtered. It was not the answer he had expected. “Not one thing has come through the wards. I gave my word to Tina that he would be… That, that vile woman had harmed him body and mind and soul for years. H-how have I not been taking care of him?”

She sprung from her armchair. “I meant from you, boy! It’s as you have said with such rancor. He is safe from the world here. You are now his protector. And yet, will you keep him safe from you? From your selfish desire?”

Graves was stricken. “I would never-“ he began hotly, and yet words failed him.

“So you see?” she asked, settling back down. She took the time to adjust her skirts, letting him stew. “Percival. That boy hasn’t had the life you had. The poor thing looks half starved and haunted. Where can he go, where can he stay but here?”

Graves saw her point. “It was not my intention. Not… I want him to feel, um.” He cleared his throat.

“I had eleven children, Percival. I think I know what you want him to feel.” She said dryly.

“I- that’s… he’s not an actual child, you know.”

“But you are a Graves. And you will act like one.”

“I-“

“Mr. Graves?” Credence called from behind the door.

“Come in, Credence,” he answered, running his hand through his hair.

Credence, fully dressed, peered into the dining room. “Who… who were you talking to?” he asked.

“Oh, just the painting, “ he replied with a wave towards the wall opposite.

“The- the painting?” Credence asked with brows raised.

“Hm-hmmm.”

He glanced at the painting in question, a lush library scene with his great grandmother residing resplendently in embroidered green silk, leather bound books on the shelves, and glints of gold and rubies sparkling in the firelight. She wasn’t moving.

“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sit so still,” Graves said, half to himself.

“The painting?”

“Hm-hmmm,” he answered, draining his coffee cup.

“But. It’s a, um. A painting, Mr. Graves.”

He stared for a moment, uncomprehending. “Oh! Yeah, well. In the wizarding world paintings- in our world, I mean. Paintings move. Magic ink makes them,” he made a motion with his hand.

Credence took a few steps closer to the painting. He looked over at Graves with concern. “If you say so, Mr. Graves.”

Graves chuckled to himself. “It’s not moving right now, for some, ah, reason. But they all do. Let me show you,” he insisted. He scoured around for the newspaper. “You know, the mail will be here any minute. You’ll see,” he said as he went downstairs to the kitchen.

Credence followed. His hang-dog face made Graves want to kiss him, he wanted to hold his touch starved body close and-

He needed to get a hold on himself.


	3. I've Watched You From Shadows, I Made No Sound

Graves made them crunchy eggs and toast for breakfast. Credence liked watching the bread flip onto the platter, nestling together neatly with pats of butter melting on top. His mouth watered. There was a small jar of raspberry preserves on the table that he tried to be frugal with until Graves nudged it closer to his plate. He didn’t seem to care for it overly much, but Credence did. The sweetness of the jam and the yeasty smell of the bread made him feel things, a precious feeling he feared would be snatched away. 

“I thought we’d start with something easy today,” Graves began, looking for Credence’s attention on him. “Magical education encompasses many different disciplines, from magi-zoology to astronomy, but most young wizards want to go straight to working with their wands, charming and transfiguring things.” Graves sipped his coffee, checking to see if Credence was following along.

He wasn’t. “How long does it take to be a, a witch? I mean, a wizard?”

“You mean-“

“When would I be a real wizard? How long does it take to learn?”

If Graves believed he still had much of a heart it would have broken just a little. “Credence. You’ve been a wizard since the day you were born.” Proper comforting would require him to be closer, but with the table in the way his words would have to do. “From here on out, all that’s going to happen is you’re going to be able to do some spells and know more about the world where you belong.” Obscurus, he thought. How long until Credence felt he no longer needed to crush his soul into the tiny box the world told him he had to fit into?

“Mr. Graves, should I be trusted with a wand?” Credence asked, looking down at his plate.

“Are you afraid of it?” he replied bluntly.

Credence nodded.

Graves sighed. “Look, I know yesterday may have been… alarming. But it’s fine.” He took his wand out to begin clearing the breakfast things. “We’ll start slow, like I said. Then, when you feel ready, we’ll work on some simple charm work. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

 

 

Credence was enjoying himself, but probably not for the same reasons Graves was.

 

They were toiling in the conservatory. The midmorning winter sun warmed the room to an almost pleasant degree. Graves was showing off his garden, pointing out certain plants and their uses; namely, those that were excellent for home-brewed healing poultices and tonics. Graves didn’t know a single Auror who would go to the Healers without grumbling, he himself perhaps the worst of the lot.

Credence was enjoying his morning, but not necessarily because he had a latent green thumb that was being coaxed out. No, he was a city boy, through and through. Most plants looked the same to him. It was not the sight of soft ferns or carefully maintained bulbs that drew his eye, but the gentle way the man in front of him would touch a leaf, or test the dryness of some soil, that made it difficult to look anywhere else. Seeing those strong hands stroking and prodding was… something. It pulled at him.

“Can I ask you a question?” Graves asked suddenly.

Credence, worried he’d been caught staring, nodded quickly. 

Graves licked his lips and began haltingly, “What is it like?”

“What is what like?” Credence replied, puzzled. Was there some plant he was supposed to be admiring?

“The Obscurus.” Graves answered, waving around a trowel. “You, being a… what you are, what you have inside you right now.” He put the trowel down with a clatter on a workbench. “Does it hurt?” 

Modesty asked him that once, after seeing the marks on his hands. He hadn’t known then which would be better, the stark truth or a reassuring lie. It still wasn’t clear. “I feel the same.”

Graves gave him a look.

“Right now, maybe a little… lighter?” 

“Hm.”

“It’s hard to explain.” Credence turned to stroke a fingertip against a plot of rich earth. “It’s like being mad. Real mad. But it grows. And then it grows until you feel like …your skin’s burning, it can’t contain that much heat. That hatefulness.” He crumbled a dead leaf between two fingertips. “I’ve felt that way before, a lot actually. But when I… it’s. More. More than just anger. Or hate. It’s happened when I wish so much that I wasn’t me anymore. That I could do something to make them stop.” Credence’s voice grew harsh and halting as he hunched over. “They say such hurtful things. They want it to hurt, they _like_ leaving the scars.”

He looked down at his hands. “It scares me every time I… disappear to it. It’s me, giving in and burning from the inside out.” Credence finally looked up. “It hurts. Every time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Graves was trying to keep his distance and failing. It didn’t help that anytime he came near to him Credence would edge close and then just a little closer, like a bloom seeking sunlight. He covered one of Credence’s hands with his own, gritty with dirt. “It doesn’t have to be. I’m sorry that for the burden you bear, for the pain in your past, I must keep you here until we figure this out some more. I’m sorry you aren’t free yet.”

Credence stared at their hands as he considered this. “Thank you. For everything.”

 

 

 

That night Credence dreamed. 

_”It’s your mother. Someone said something.” Trash. Freak. “I ain’t your ma.” “It’s mine!” Please. Honor thy mother. I’m not your son. Freak. You’re not my mother. “Your mother was a wicked-“ You aren’t Ma. “-unnatural-” You’re nothing. Honor thy mother. I owe you nothing. “What is this?” You’re **nothing.** Hold on Credence, hold ON-_

 

“Credence!”

_What?_

Oh, he thought, looking around. Graves was shaking his head. Under different circumstances Credence would have blushed at the other man’s disordered hair and bare feet. The anxious look on his face killed any mirth. “Credence. You alright kid?”

He was shaking. “Um, yeah. Just a bad dream.” Credence slowly slid out of the blankets to assess the damage. The mirror over the dresser was broken. The room had an odd, thick scent, and there were a few gashes in the sheets from where he’d clutched them in his sleep. “I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly.

“Well.” Graves grumbled. He sighed. “Come on, I’ll make us some coffee. May as well…” his voice trailed off as he stumbled away to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. 

 

Credence considered getting dressed. The places he lived with Ma were always cold. He was expected to be up and dressed before first light each morning, tending to his chores. But here, well. Credence took his cue from Graves. He settled for throwing a quilt over his shoulders after peeking out the window. The skyline was lightening, but there was no birdsong. Downstairs was dark and cold, and by the time he reached the glowing light of the kitchen the walk had numbed his toes despite his new socks.

 

This was going to be harder than Graves had previously thought. He was enjoying Credence, really he was, but the fact still remained that he was greatly out of his element here. He simply didn’t have people in his house for very long. Merlin’s beard, he hadn’t even had an overnight guest in …. he frowned. Graves couldn’t remember the last time he had brought someone to his.

That’s how Credence found him, frowning at the stovetop. “The coffee’s boiled,” he said hesitantly.

“Hm? Oh,” Graves grumbled. He poured the steaming coffee into waiting cups, then held one out to Credence. It burned his fingertips. 

Graves had made the coffee strong, but even the bitter thick brew wasn’t going to be enough to clear his thoughts into some order. All he could think about was jolting awake to animal-like whimpers. Then the screaming. 

“I’m sorry.” Credence offered, eyes on the floor.

Graves was tired. Tired because of the early hour; tired because he was still recovering physically and psychologically; tired from having his space invaded by someone he couldn’t touch. But right now, he was tired of hearing the frail young man in front of him apologizing incessantly. He reacted badly.

“Enough,” he barked. He felt like a brute even as the sound left his mouth. He put his cup down.

Credence had flinched, causing the hot coffee to slosh over the rim and onto his hand. He gasped in pain as the flesh turned red. Instinctively, he tried to hide the pain.

Graves was having none of it. “Aw hell! Where’s my- Ah. Here let me-“ Graves pulled him by the arm back upstairs to the medicine cabinet. “You know, I should probably keep an extra bottle downstairs,” he mused.

“What?” Credence asked, being pulled along by his good hand.

When they were halfway down the hall that led to the bathroom Credence jumped as he saw the medicine cabinet bang open and a small bottle come hurtling towards them. Graves caught it deftly, grumbling to himself as he began dabbing it onto the burned area.

“Can you always do that?” Credence asked, intrigued.

“ _Accio_? Yeah, but if it’s something breakable it’s better to not have it go around corners or other things,” he said absently. Graves was gently rubbing little circles on the burned area. Credence thought about telling him that the sting was gone now. He thought it; he didn’t say it. 

 

They continued like that in silence for a few moments longer, until Graves shook himself. “I’m going out. I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said before disappearing into his room.

Credence cradled his hand to his chest in the empty hall.

 

 

“What are you doing here?” 

Graves was put out by the tone but acted nonchalant. “Oh, just seeing how my department runs without me, Tina,” he said with a smile.

Tina checked if anyone was near enough to overhear. “Where is he?” she asked quietly.

“He’s fine,” Graves answered brusquely. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”

Tina nodded quickly. “Come with me.”

She led them down into the lowest levels, near the wand permit office. Down one corridor dustier and darker than the others she opened a rickety door that made a terrible creaking noise. She gestured inside.

Graves peered in. “Is this where you’re going to hide my body then?”

“That’s not funny yet.”

“Hm.” He stepped inside and Tina followed. “I have some questions about the Obscurus,” he began.

 

 

He was making hot water and toast when he heard a noise.

Credence stepped away from the stove, eyeing the back door that led to the dim alley outside. Something was rustling the broken bottles and dirty newspapers. He wasn’t sure what to do: flee upstairs? Or wait for it to pass? 

It could be a fat rat, but they liked to feed at the darkest hours of the night. Maybe a hungry street orphan, but this block was only brownstones. They would have better luck downtown near the back alleyways of diners. Unless whatever was out there hadn’t come for their table scraps. 

Just as Credence felt that trembling underneath his skin, a pitiful meow echoed against the brick walls. Without really thinking about it, he quickly unlocked the door and peered out. Sure enough, a tiny fluff of black kitten was licking the opening of a milk jar that had rolled onto its side. It looked up at him. 

“Hello,” he whispered, smiling.

It meowed back. Credence scooped up his new friend and shut the door. 

 

 

Tina hadn’t been able to offer much. Credence was rare, maybe the only one of his kind to have ever survived to his age and frankly, as she had said, Newt didn’t really know what might happen to Credence either way.

“You mean it can’t be removed?”

“I mean that- Well, we’re not sure what would be worse. To try and remove it or, to leave it alone.”

“But Scamander has removed one before, right? That’s what he said?”

Tina looked away. “Not successfully.”

Graves didn’t take that information too well. “Are you telling me, that we don’t know if that Thing is slowly killing him or if it would kill him to try and… what? Suck it out of him? Curse it away?” He had to take a moment to regain his composure. 

Tina looked ashamed. “I don’t have an answer.” Her voice turned thick. “It seems no matter what I do, I can’t save him.”

 

 

Graves returned home just before lunch time. He’d prowled the streets, frustrated and feeling weak. He hated that things were going this way. Graves was still furious that they had had Grindelwald right here, and he’d slipped from their fingers. Being put on mandatory medical leave was a blow to his ego. And yet, if he wasn’t forced into taking time off, he likely would have raised a few questioning looks at work if he had. There was no way he would have brought Credence into his home and then just left him there, like a house plant; like he was under house arrest. Still, he wasn’t used to being around someone constantly. He needed his space, and yet he didn’t like leaving Credence alone. There was an uneasy feeling that plagued him, that if Credence was out of his sight for too long the young man would be snatched away. By whom, he couldn’t say. 

His talk with Tina had been largely unproductive. He was disappointed by the bits of information garnered from Scamander, none of which lent itself to forming a solution or even a long-term coping process. She had promised to write to him, although she couldn’t say when they’d receive a reply. Graves yawned as he hung up his coat. “Credence?” he called. His voice echoed in the still house.

“Uh-hem,” said a faint voice.

Graves glanced at the small portrait of his great-uncle on his mother’s side that hung near the front door. “Yes?”

“He’s downstairs. Been there all morning.”

“Hm.” Graves went to find him. 

 

 

Credence was smiling gently at the sleepy kitten. It could fit curled up in his palm. 

“What’s that?” Graves asked.

Compulsively, Credence tried to shield the cat from him with his body. “Nn-nothing. I was just-“

Alarmed, Graves pulled his shoulder away to reveal a blinking little face. “Meow.”

“NO.” Graves had a mistrust of cats. He shook his head, then caught sight of Credence’s face. 

His hands cradled the ball of fur. “I’ll just put her outside.”

Graves sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just. Urgh, keep her out of my room, okay?”

Credence smiled. “Okay.”

 

 

Fleeing to his study after lunch left Graves with his thoughts. They weren’t being particularly nice. _You can’t keep him here forever. What if you can’t save him? They’ll come for him._ Credence had been with him for about a week. Other than the morning he indulged his guilt by spoiling him with warmer clothes, they had been holed up in his brownstone. For the boy’s safety, Graves told himself.

But now it wasn’t clear what the next step should be. Safety was relative. As Graves had discovered, he might be just as dangerous to his own self as MACUSA’s judgement or Grindelwald’s machinations would be. _I need to do more,_ he thought. _What am I not seeing?_

 

In the library, Credence had found a quill. He wasn’t using it to write with, though. It was being put to use as a toy for the kitten to bat at while he read about beginner’s charms. He’d slipped into the library after lunch, emboldened by Graves absence. He wanted to know how to do the summoning spell Graves had used that morning. This was made nearly impossible, he discovered, as he realized he didn’t know how one went about looking up a spell in one of the hundreds of books lining the walls. He decided to pull down any book with “basic” or “beginner” in the title. 

After flipping through a few of the pages, Credence listened for Graves. He heard only the subtle creaks and sighs of the house. He glanced down at Isolt. She had fallen asleep on her back, stretched out on his lap. The words for spells were so odd, Credence thought. He mumbled, “ _Windgardium leviosa._ ” He thought about clouds, and the light rising feeling one gets when they’re happy. “ _Windgardium leviosa,_ ” he said, a little louder and a little clearer. He felt something stirring in his chest. With the quill in his left hand and his attention on the book in his right, Credence idly made the swish-flick motion from the book. 

 

“Uh, Credence?”

He looked up from his book. And then he had to look down, because he was floating half-way up to the ceiling. “Oh.” The bubble of lightness in his chest popped, and he fell.

Graves caught him with a grunt. The cat screeched as it landed on the couch before scurrying away. “What the hell were you doing?”

“I don’t know.” His face felt hot. He hadn’t meant to do anything bad.

“That was- what did you even do? I’ve never seen someone just. Hover.” 

Graves was still holding him. They had ended up with Graves leaning over Credence with one arm around his hips and the other braced against the couch. 

“I-I don’t know. The book.” He held it up. 

Graves shifted to sit beside him. “Beginner’s Charms?” He flipped through it. “I should be going through this with you,” he mused. He looked up with a slight smile. “Just to avoid any mishaps.”

“Ok,” Credence replied shyly. 

“Where’s your wand?” Graves asked, frowning.

“It’s in my room.”

“Why don’t you go grab it?” he suggested. As soon as Credence turned the corner, Graves dashed into his study for his journal to make a note. 

_Credence did wandless magic today._

 

 

“Not bad,” Graves admitted. His hair was disheveled and his shirt sleeves were rolled past his forearms. Credence looked worse, with his hair blown every which way and sweaty around the temples. But his eyes were bright and his cheeks were pink, and Graves didn’t want to lose this sight just yet. “Try again.”

Once more, Credence took a steadying breath. “ _Windgardium leviosa_.” 

Anyone with eyes could see that Credence had a great deal of power. Graves wanted him to learn how to control and focus that power as needed. He just needed to be careful. The first attempt with Credence’s wand pulled half the library’s books off the shelves. The second sent a lamp crashing into the ceiling. Eventually, with Graves murmuring encouragement, Credence was able to focus on progressively smaller objects. Until Graves decided to really challenge him. 

This time, Credence levitated a quill off of Graves hand. “Good! Now, keep it there, just there.” Graves took a step away from the floating quill, back around to clasp Credence’s other shoulder. “Focus,” he chided. 

Credence’s wand arm was shaking slightly. His brow was furrowed and his left side tingled with the heat of another body at his side. _Wicked,_ whispered the voice in his head. _No,_ he thought, tamping it down tightly. 

“Okay, let it down,” Graves said, holding out his hand again. The quill quavered mid-air, fell, and bounced off his hand onto the ground. He stooped to pick it up. “Not bad at all.” He smiled. 

Credence smiled back, a real one, (finally, Graves thought) wide open with his eyes glowing. They stood there, a beat too long, simply staring at each other’s happy face. Graves caught himself and looked down at the quill in his hand. Just an ordinary quill, he thought.

“Mr. Graves?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look up, instead taking his wand out to clean up some of the mess that had been made.

“Why do you live alone?”

Graves thought it best to downplay the question. “Oh, never really thought of myself as a family man,” he said. With the room set to rights, there was no where else to look. “Getting bored of my company, I bet,” he said flippantly.

“No,” Credence replied simply. 

“Mm-hmmm. Well, I need to…” he strolled out to the hallway and had to stop. He was running away in his own home. 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Credence offered from the library doorway.

Graves knew that. “You didn’t.” 

Credence followed him to the parlor. Graves accepted that ignoring the problem would probably not work, but he was still going to attempt it. He lit a fire in the grate to chase the chill of the room away. Then, before he could think better of it, he poured himself a splash of whiskey. He settled himself into a comfortable position on the couch. 

Credence took a seat at the far end. “It’s not wrong, is it?”

Graves just raised an eyebrow over his tumbler. 

“In the wizarding world.” Credence amended. Graves stared expectantly. “A confirmed bachelor?” Credence asked meaningfully. 

“Ah.” So they were having this conversation. “Well,” Graves began, watching as the whiskey caught the firelight. “It’s not exactly approved of, but no.” He sipped from his glass. “It’s also not spoken of in polite society.”

Credence twisted his hands in his lap. “And you?”

Graves had known his preferences since an ill-advised kiss with Seraphina in Sixth year behind a Christmas tree. He had never felt the need to hide exactly; his reserved nature would probably have kept any partners a secret. But having this out in the open with Credence would change things. Try as he might, any touch or glance could be misconstrued. 

_But it wouldn’t really be, would it?_ Hissed a sly thought. 

“A confirmed bachelor, as they say?” Graves asked looking away. “Sure am, kid.” He tossed back the rest of his glass. He looked back.

Credence looked radiant. “I-“ he stopped, then shrugged with a little smile.

“Oh,” Graves said. He hadn’t really thought past his own attraction. It had seemed a dead end. As he looked at Credence with his hair still mussed and his bright eyes, he thought, _’I am so fucked.’_


	4. I've Slashed All Your Tires, You Cannot Go Back

Credence was watching him sleep. Then, upon catching himself engaging in such questionable behavior, rose from the couch and made towards the door with a sense of urgency. He stopped at the doorway to turn back and gaze again at Graves’ sleeping form. He sighed.

The first time Credence saw him he could feel straight down to his toes how much he wanted Mr. Graves, even if he wasn’t sure about the details. He knew they were worlds apart. Here was a man in all the ways Credence was not, evident in the way he stood and the clothes he wore. This was a man with life experience and an important job, who spoke with authority and was respected for it. The space between their lives was like the difference between clean snow freshly fallen, and the dirty sludge it became in the gutters. He wanted to touch the edge of his sleeve and smell the faint trace of cologne on his neck. He wanted with an intensity that felt dangerous. 

Not knowing what else to do, Credence wandered into the hall with some thoughts of going to the library to browse the book titles. Isolt padded after him. 

The days felt so very different now, passing with swiftness from each new curiosity. He was different, sitting on a comfortable chaise with an old book and a purring kitten, not a thing to do but wait in the dim light. He didn’t know when the last time he’d felt this drop of anticipation in his belly. But then like a cold splash of water to his face, he suddenly remembered.

It was the night he had stood outside the Woolworth’s building passing out flyers in the cold. Credence had hoped with all his might that he would catch a glimpse of Mr. Graves. It was well past the time he should have headed back home to Ma. His fingers were numb and the wind stung his face, and still refused to give up lest the chance be missed. He waited by the open grate to the subway, with only the steam of passing trains to offer some semblance of warmth with his lack of a proper coat. Just when he had supposed his waiting and hoping was a fool’s errand and it was time to head home, he’d looked up and there he was already watching him back.

When they had met in the darkness of a narrow alleyway, Credence’s mind flashed unhelpfully to the other things that could happen between men down similar dark passages. Walking around the city as he did, he would have had to be a dunce to not notice these things. Ma had warned him vaguely about the dangers of other men with “unclean impulses.” Sensing her revulsion, he hid his truth down deep. Yet Credence had become aware over the years, as children do, of some of the ways men could be coupled. Fleeting glimpses of pictures passed between the hands of strangers at the corners of train stations; or the scuffling of shoes and hushed voices as he turned down what had seemed to be a deserted alleyway. 

But that was not their purpose that night in that alley. It made him feel odd to look back on that particular memory, with the man whom he had trusted as a friend. He knew it was not the same man who slept in the other room, and yet.

While they both shared the face that had torn his hope to shreds, it was also a face that had smiled with such naked joy just an hour before. He knew logically that one of these men should be cast out of his mind because they needed to be feared, and their actions and machinations abhorred. That false Graves had never really existed, nor could he ever really exist again. It was only in his traitorous heart where he could admit a shameful truth: there had been a dark element to the false man that had thrilled him. Maybe it was because he’d felt such desperate hope before being betrayed. 

Credence liked his sleeping Graves better of course. But that overbearing touch of the other one had stirred something in him he hadn’t felt since. On the other hand, it had also struck a thin cord of fear in his heart he wasn’t sure he missed. 

 

———————————————-

It was hours later when Graves came looking for him. He’d woken to find the fire cheerfully cracking away in the grate but no Credence. The rest of the house was cold and dark. There was no noise or light coming from beneath the bedroom door next to his. Graves debated about knocking, not wanting to wake him up if he was sleeping. He put his ear to the door to listen when it opened suddenly.

Credence was a shadowy shape in the doorway. Graves cleared his throat. “Just came by to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Credence replied quietly. He made no move to close the door.

Graves felt unaccountably jittery. “Well then,” he said after realizing he was simply standing there staring. “No need to tuck you in or give goodnight kisses I suppose.”

“That would be nice.”

Graves had started to move towards his room. “Hm?” 

Credence was staring at the floor. “That would be nice,” he whispered.

Before he lost his nerve, Graves quickly planted a kiss to the top of his head. “Sleep well, kid,” he said gruffly as he practically threw himself into his own bedroom. 

—————————————————

Graves couldn’t sleep after his long nap on the sofa. He knew they needed a plan to save Credence, and to find Grindelwald. It bothered him deeply that he was so unsettled lately. There was a time when he wouldn’t have left his office for days until his team had a lead. Now, his thoughts were scattered; his mind ran in circles with no solutions. 

Giving up on sleep, Graves threw on his robe and stalked down to the study. He flicked on the lights, opened up his journal, and got to work. He kept at it until the room lightened and the birds began to sing outside his window. 

 

——————————————————

Credence awoke to Isolt pawing at his face. “Hello,” he grumbled at the fluff on his chest. He gently shooed her off and began to get up and ready for the day. 

He missed his old clothes. It felt like a betrayal of sorts, but there it was. Credence knew who he was in those old rags. But in these soft warm clothes, and in an array of colors no less? It was unsettling. Yet, he liked the dark green coat most of all. Green things were hard to come by in the city. Ma wouldn’t let them near the center of New York, but sometimes Credence would pass by a flower stand. He would linger to admire the joyful blooms and cheerful colors. Things like that belonged to other people, not him, never him. 

When he went downstairs with Isolt cradled under one arm, Credence found Graves frying up eggs. “Good morning,” he said quietly as he took a seat to watch.

“Morning,” Graves called over his shoulder. “Dammit,” he said under his breath. Frying eggs over-easy was tricky. He loved a good fried egg over crisp buttered toast, breaking the golden yellow of the yolk to soak the bread. But Graves had never attempted to cook four at one time and was failing. The yolks kept solidifying under his wand. 

“Well, I guess that’s just not in the cards for today,” he muttered as the eggs floated over and landed on the burnt toast slices. He plunked down in his chair as the plates settled in front of them. Graves poured two cups of strong coffee. “Dig in.”

 

Credence obliged by poking at the black crust on his toast. “Mr. Graves?” he asked hesitantly.

“Mm?” Graves grunted with his mouth full of egg. He washed it down with a slurp of coffee. “Something on your mind?”

“What’s going to happen to me?” It was a question that had played at his mind for days. Credence had hoped that someone, Graves or Tina or Scamander, would tell him what his future held. But there had been nothing but silence. 

Graves was silent now. All too often he would catch himself staring openly at Credence’s pale face, but it seemed he couldn’t look up from the crumbs on his plate. “If I had my say,” he began slowly, “nothing. Nothing bad would ever happen to you, ever again.” Graves sighed. “The truth is, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he admitted as he finally looked up.

It was a mistake. Credence was staring at him with naked adoration. Graves allowed himself a moment to appreciate the vision of dark eyes and pink lips, before he continued. “Credence, I need you to know that whatever is going to happen, you won’t be alone.”

 

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. 

Satisfied, Graves nodded too. “Good.” Then he heard the ping of the fireplace upstairs.

 

————————————————————————

Tina was firecalling him. Shit.

“Hello, Goldstein,” Graves answered tiredly.  
Tina frowned. “I haven’t heard from you.”

“I didn’t have anything I wanted to say,” he retorted.

“I was worried. The Aurors still haven’t found Grindelwald, Madame Picquery is on a warpath, Queenie keeps…” here she raised her eyebrows and dropped her voice, “ _insinuating_ things.”

  

Graves was saved from having to respond by a loud tapping at the window. A crow was waiting with a slip of paper tied to his leg. “I need to go. Keep me informed.”

Tina didn’t look happy with the quick dismissal, but she kept it to herself. The crow’s message was from President Picquery: “Come to my office at 8 o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Wizards use carrier pigeons?” 

Graves looked over his shoulder to find Credence in the doorway, who made a confused face. “Carrier crows…” he mumbled to himself.

“Hmm.” Graves crumpled the note. Seraphina would surely want to discuss his leave of absence. Maybe the great Madame President would demand he hand in his resignation. Or perhaps his old friend would take the opposite tactic, and reassure him that he could take all the time he needed to recover. Either option was a doubt in his mental and physical strength. 

There was of course another possible reason. A year ago, Graves would have responded to forced medical leave with endless hours of research, planning, and harassing the President until he could return to work. 

Clearly, he had been slipping in his subterfuge. Steps would need to be taken. Graves realized he was pacing while he thought. He looked up to see that Credence was trying to read the mess of papers on his desk. The papers that were filled with theories, worries, and half-baked plans.

Graves cleared his through to get Credence’s attention. “Why don’t we continue your lessons today?” he asked as he carefully began to stack the papers strewn around, putting the most damning at the bottom of the pile. “Have you got your wand on you?”

Credence shook his head.

“Okay. First, a wizard never leaves his wand behind. You learn that at, well, practically as a child that…”

Graves continued on for a few minutes, but Credence found it hard to listen. He could feel his face burn. It was difficult to reconcile who he had thought he was with who the wizarding world would expect him to be. It seemed that there were dozens of new rules on how to behave to avoid ridicule, and that was without anyone knowing what he was. He despaired of ever belonging to any world. 

He realized Graves had finished speaking. “What?”

“You okay kid?” 

Credence nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried off to find his wand. 

—————————————————-

His wand practice did not go well. Isolt had curled up on a spindly chair when they had begun, and disappeared at some point. It might have been the sparks, or perhaps Graves’ cursing that frightened her off. Credence, for all of his desire to belong, was wishing he could scamper off too. 

“No, no!” Graves exclaimed. “Here, relax this part,” he pinched Credence’s wrist between two fingers and shook it, “keep this part steady,” he patted his elbow, “and move from the shoulder. Try again.” Graves combed his hair back with his fingers.

Credence may have had enormous power, but he didn’t have the know-how to perform the simplest spells correctly. Graves, for all of his time as a leader in government, hadn’t ever succeeded at one-on-one mentoring. The stress of being cooped up with little to predict what the future would hold was beginning to get to them both. 

“Try again,” Graves repeated, glancing at Credence’s face. The boy’s eyes were heated, his jaw clenching. He waved his wand again, disregarding everything Graves had just explained. 

Graves threw his hands in the air. “What was that?” He exploded.

Credence lowered his wand arm slowly. 

Graves took a deep breath. “Okay,” he began in a quieter tone. “Let’s back up a moment.” He put a hand on Credence’s shoulder.

Credence shrugged it off hurried out of the room. 

“Hey!” Graves took off after him. Credence tore up the stairs to his room. “Credence! Kid, wait a minute!” Dammit, he thought as he tried to catch his breath and his vision blacked around the edges. He hadn’t exerted himself much on his medical leave, and it was showing. He heard a door slam.

 

Credence rushed into his room and fell to his knees. _Breathe._ , he thought. His lungs wouldn’t cooperate. All he could manage was shallow breaths. The animal inside was clawing at its cage. He wanted to give in and let it roam free. _Breathe, just breathe._

Graves was at the door. “Credence?” His muffled voice called. “I didn’t mean to push you, just. Open up. Okay?”

Credence shook his head, knowing that no one could see him but unable to vocalize. _No._. His hands trembled, so he made them into fists. He heard the door open behind him.

 

Graves peered into the room. Credence didn’t acknowledge him, so he slowly made his way over until he was standing in front of him. “Everything alright?” Graves asked blandly. 

Credence’s whole body was shaking, but he nodded. 

“Hm. Doesn’t look alright,” Graves said conversationally. He squatted down so he was at his level. “You think we should take a break? Maybe work in the garden for a bit?” He made the mistake of catching Credence’s eye. 

He could see the blow coming, in the way that the kid’s body coiled back briefly, but it still overpowered him. Graves managed to get his hands on Credence’s upper arms to minimize the blows, but it still was sloppy of him.

Credence slapped and punched the best he could, but he had never been a scrappy fighter and it showed. Graves let him work it out for a beat, until he decided that he’d had enough. He bucked his hips to dislodge Credence’s center of gravity, then rolled them over. Graves sat back on his heels to pin him to the floor. “Got it out of you system?” He asked with a laugh. Credence had his hands frozen mid-air. “No,” he said hoarsely. Then his form began to waver.

Graves had a split second to panic before dark tendrils of smoke snaked around his arms and neck. He strangled a shout as he was pulled tighter against Credence’s body. It took a moment of struggling for him to realize that Credence seemed just as alarmed as he was. His hands weren’t doing anything. 

“What is this?” Graves whispered, he lips inches from Credence’s face. 

“I don’t know!” He shivered. “I’m sorry.”

Graves wiggled a little, trying to loosen the hold on him. “Are you consciously doing this?”

Credence bit his lip. “I don’t- don’t think so?”

Graves took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Were you thinking of anything a moment ago? Other than getting a few licks in?”

That apparently was the wrong thing to say, as the tendrils pulled tighter until their faces were touching. Graves stared into Credence’s wide eyes. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered to no one. Then he kissed him.


End file.
